


Dance with their swords

by veritasmahwa



Category: Original Work
Genre: Action, Complete, Gen, Inspired by Poetry, One Shot, Poetic, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-18 17:57:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21280877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veritasmahwa/pseuds/veritasmahwa
Summary: Do they fight or dance?
Comments: 10
Kudos: 4





	Dance with their swords

**Author's Note:**

> My second story which i convert to English (My native language is Turkish)  
After i find a beta to show me my mistakes (i can't thank enough to redditor "jixie-unofficial" also known as https://archiveofourown.org/users/jixie ) i decided to publish this warm-up-english-story.

**Do you know the difference between a swordmaster and a sword user? **

Snow, dyed in red, blankets the cold ground. The deep color seeps down, as if looking for a way to escape this place-- this man. Standing amidst this massacre, he tries to clear his mind. His grip on the sword tightens, blood rushing to his hands. It's understandable, as he prepares to face his master. He must beat him. Alone and outranked, he has no choice but to push forward, surpassing this obstacle in front of him. He does his best to avoid looking at lifeless bodies scattered around.

**You may think that each individual is alone in battle. **

He stole a glance at his sword. Combining traditional elements with modern engineering, this sword was born from a master craftsman. It glides through the air and effortlessly cuts down anything and anyone in its way, like an accomplished chef rapidly slices up their ingredients without a second thought. Like a pen dancing across the paper, writing out a poem.

**You're wrong. **

Many weapons have tried to stop this blade. Decent weapons, all pretty good for their own class. But those who brandished them fade like flowers past the bloom.

**They are not alone. **

He needs to focus. He shakes himself free of all thoughts, existing in the moment. 'Clear your mind.' That's what his master taught. An admonition he's heard time and time again. This is not the time for meditation.

So, he attacks.

**There are many reasons why they are not alone. **

The thin kimono doesn't do much to keep out the biting cold. Socks, white as the snow underfoot, offer little protection against the invisible monster that is frostbite.

**Only a poet or a swordmaster can explain this phenomenon. **

The sparks flash as steel meets steel. Swords dance like lovers in the hands of their masters. They flirt like a peacock.

The student has never felt like this before. It's not about his master. It's not coming from his long years of training. This is something different. An emotion so faint, like a half-forgotten memory, he wonders if it's real.

**Not just a weapon, one cannot comprehend unless they wield a sword**.

Ignoring objectives and intentions, evading thoughts of what move to make, he functions on pure instinct. It felt like stepping into an empty room. Everything is outside. There is nothing within.

**The swordmaster said, 'One would realize what they're doing after it's happened.' **

He is suddenly, keenly aware of the sword that he holds. It feels new, like it's the first time in his life he's grabbed the hilt. He observes it, not with his eyes, not with his hands, but with his soul. It feels like... replaying a dream in his mind.

**Their stance changes. **

When he charges forward, he is still looking at his sword. Not his opponent, nor his fate. It feels like... he is rewriting the destiny.

**Their gaze shifts. **

Seeing it now, the sword looks like a person on its own.

Smelling it. Wet steel and sharkskin and ice.

Tasting it. Swallow the metallic tang of blood.

Listening to it. Ah, like a song only for himself.

Feeling it. The deepest lore belongs to the soul.

**Their eyes sharpen, like a wild animal watching their prey.**

If he hadn't reached such a state, then he might've looked into his master's eyes. Those eyes, containing an endless depth of wisdom, now gaze at the disciple with pride, joy, and sadness.

**They calculate the distance. **

Some part of him wants nothing more to relax, to fall into an endless sleep. But his body screams with every gesture, every muscle, every cell protesting at once. So tightly wound and focused that he might leap up into the sky and reach heaven.

** They wait for the right moment. **

The master charges with his sword, making a counter argument. It wasn't like moving a limb or a muscle. Instead, it's like every cell has its own initiative, and yet they are all acting in unison.

**Then attack. **

The fight is over in a heartbeat. The difference is not skills. The difference is their ambitions. One is there to take a life, the other is there to achieve enlightenment.

**The moment they attack, they realize they are not there to fight. **

It didn't feel like an attack with a sword in hand. He and his blade move as one being. Nothing would separate the two. Not bone, not cell, not steel, not thought.

**They aren't there to satisfy someone else, nor themselves. **

He's lost the reason why he is there.

**They aren't there to win or lose. **

It's not a moment he surpass his master.

**What they do in this exact moment...**

Two opposing forces move in tandem. Like south and north, one cannot be exist without other. Two wheels turning in the opposite directions because they connect at one point. It's so out of this world, what's happening there.

What they do there is...

**Dancing with their swords.**


End file.
